Shed
by ObsessiveCompulsiveforhp
Summary: Questions are asked, secrets revealed, identities lost, found, and lives rewritten, and one little lion learns what it means to shed. Snape is Harry's father. No pairings just yet. Semi-good Malfoys. AU AFTER FIFTH YEAR. Slightly graphic descriptions of torture, healing and wandfights.
1. Chapter 1

Shed – A Harry Potter Fanfiction

Chapter One

Harry Potter was a strange child.

He knew it. Had always known it. His knowing it had less to do with his relatives seeming inability to tell him anything else and more to do with his personal experiences. After all, how many kids do you know can talk to snakes? Cast amazingly advanced magic at age thirteen?

Become an entirely different person in the space of twelve hours?

Harry was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to be able to do that.

His back ached from where he'd hit it against one of Dudley's broken down night stands after Vernon had literally thrown him into the small bedroom the night before. That was after the man-walrus had come at him with his belt. Everything hurt like hell, but at least he could move still.

Even if he was currently frozen in front of the broken mirror, less shocked and more exasperated and annoyed that the face he'd known for the past fourteen years was completely replaced with a paler, more angular face, with insanely curly hair and curiously purple eyes.

He didn't think eyes were supposed to come in purple.

He blinked at himself, unable to form much coherent thought beyond 'I should scream.' it was perfectly fine, too. The Dursley's had left him home alone once again, Number Six next door was empty, the entire family having gone on a cruise, and Number Two's little boy had a birthday, so everyone was out at the park down the street. No one would hear him from up here in the tiny bedroom. No one that mattered that was. Hedwig wouldn't like it at all if he started screaming his head off, but Hedwig wasn't here, thank goodness. She'd probably be clawing and nipping at his head if she were, this Harry-imposter in her Harry's room.

Harry sighed, dropped his head into his hands and spun towards his bed.

Usually passing the window didn't give him super-powered heart palpitations that made his knees go weak and his eyes (that needed different glasses) go all blurry. Usually. But today was not a usual day, clearly, and so when Harry hobbled over to the window after somehow clearing his eyes, when his squinting eyes made out Lucius Malfoy's head staring up at his window from mid-air over the sidewalk across the street, Harry very calmly closed his eyes and willed his heart to slow down. It didn't listen, but it was the thought that count.

When his eyes finally opened up again, Lucius' hand was beckoning him downstairs, grey eyes locked with his now purple, and Harry really couldn't think of a reason not to.

His face wasn't his face. His relatives hated him. Vernon would soon overpower his magic and do what he really wanted to him and Harry couldn't do anything about it. The world was a hopeless, hopeless place and he just couldn't get a break so why not give Voldie the shock of his life and have himself delivered to him. If he was lucky the snake-faced bastard would have a heart attack and die.

He doubted it, but it was a nice thought.

When he opened the Dursley's front door some three minutes later, Harry was wary, holding his wand firmly in his left hand (it had just felt _wrong_ in his right, another change he didn't welcome) and pointed toward the ground. Lucius's head and hand were both gone, and Harry stood on the front step, anxiously, wondering if the older man had disappeared. But no, seconds later the invisibility cloak the man had been hiding under fell away, Lucius folding it over his arm, his cane, the same one he'd held back at the end of Harry's second year, materializing out of thin air to rest in his hand. Harry scowled as the man beckoned him closer.

He wasn't entirely sure what exactly he was doing, walking down the Dursley's front walk and out the gate, about to cross the street, or why he was doing it, other than the vague sense of 'Why not?' the entire day had given him, but as he drew closer Lucius Malfoy neither moved or drew his wand, a sign Harry decided to take as positive.

"Impressive, Potter. I was wondering if I would have to begin torturing Muggles to get your attention. Thank you for saving me the trouble of dealing with the filth."

Harry shrugged, not even bothered. "Sure, no problem. I live to serve, right?"

"Hmm." The aristocrat studied him, and Harry bit his tongue. Malfoy knew something, otherwise he wouldn't be looking at Harry that way, as if he'd both hoped and not that he'd see Harry's new face. "I take it you've noticed a few differences in your body lately?"

"I have! I've got hair in a place I hadn't ever before." Harry clasped his hands together, giving Lucius the most adoring expression he could manage. "Oh golly Mr. Malfoy, are you gonna give me the talk?"

"Impertinent child!" the man snarled, pale face suffusing with blood before he managed to pull himself together, visibly straightening his coat for no apparent reason. "Just like your father, aren't you?"

"Don't talk about my father!" Harry's wand pointed quite firmly at the elder man. He was suddenly furious, his heart thump-thumping in his chest at a speed and volume he wasn't aware was possible. Lucius didn't rise to the bait though. He stood there, considering the shorter teen.

"I don't envy either of you. The spell you want, to render your appearance back to it's usual messy, _plebeian_ self is more of a ritual." With a flourish he pulled a piece of parchment from an inner pocket. Harry didn't move to touch it.

"What do you know? Why am I like this?"Harry's heart hammered in his ears, his feet taking him forward, into the other man's personal space without conscious thought. Malfoy had answers, answers he wanted. He lifted his wand, jabbing the point into the skin under the man's jawline. "what is happening to me?"

"calm yourself, Mr. Potter. The what's and the why's are not important at the moment. Restoring your appearance is. Take this parchment, learn the spell - "

harry snatched the piece of paper out of the man's hand, and was genuinely startled when it did not initiate a sharp tug behind his belly-button and whisk him away to some place. So, the man was for real. He wasn't trying to hurt him, wanted to help him even. Which meant that there was something in it for him, or that he had a lot to lose if Harry went around looking like he did.

"How much trouble will you be in if I don't?" Harry asked. "If I keep looking like this, if the spell doesn't work?"

"It took you long enough," Lucius remarked. He looked supremely unruffled, despite Harry's wand still poking him in the jugular. He shifted his heels, bringing his cane in front of him and resting both hands on the silver snake head. "I was beginning to think your father's cunning had been diluted by the Muggle filth you grew up with."

"You don't know what you're talking about. My father was - "

"Your father _is_ a cunning man. He has cunning enough to spare. You would do well to learn from him."

Harry was quiet. There was something here, something the elder man was trying to tell him. He didn't know what it could be other than that James Potter wasn't his father, but that was madness...

Except he didn't look like James Potter much right now.

'Very good," the man purred. "You are beginning to understand. I had my doubts, child, but I am very much glad you keep proving them wrong. Now, what do you want to know."

harry took a moment to consider. To wrap his mind around the concept. He was not Harry Potter. He was Harry, Harry Something Else, and Malfoy apparently knew who his parents, his father at least, was. Which meant that Malfoy likely knew the whole story of who he really was and why he ended up at the Dursley's and why people think he was Harry Potter, son of Lily and James Potter.

"who is my father?"

Lucius Malfoy gave him an appraising look. "Are you sure you want to know? It could very well change nothing, you realize. You may still have to gather those ingredients and cast that spell - "

"Who is he?" It was more than just a question now, because now harry could feel it, the hard, pounding fear of the unknown. Who was his father? Why hadn't he come for him? Did he even want him? Did he even know about him? Would he want him now? Was he supposed to find him, tell him? Harry swallowed hard around the strange not-supposed-to-be-there lump in his throat. He, Harry wanted to know, needed to know, even if nothing ever came out of it.

"Severus Snape."

The name hit him like a slice to the chest and Harry bent double, wand clutched to his chest and fighting to breathe, willing his mind to absorb it. Snape. Snape. Snape. Snape was his father. Snape who hated him from the moment he laid eyes on him. Snape who lived to make his life a living hell. Snape, who thought he was a rude, attention-seeking brat, and wouldn't care if his son was Harry Potter.

"It is not as bad as you are thinking, I assure you."

Harry spun, blinking back the water than was surely _not_ pooling in his eyes. He couldn't break down yet. The world was now a hopeless, strange, _cruel_ place, but he couldn't break down yet. He had questions to ask. "Did he – does he know?"

"He does not." Startled purple eyes jumped to meet steely gray, and Harry reluctantly felt a tinge of hope. Lucius, however, wasn't done. "do you truly believe that as possessive as Snape is he'd leave you here to live with Muggles? Preposterous. Snape never knew, and neither does your mother."

The air all went rushing out of him then. He had a mother. His mother was out there, somewhere, alive. Maybe wanting him, maybe not. His father was Snape and he had a mother. "Who is she? What happened? How did I end up here?" _Why did I have to live with the Dursley's?_

"Understand, I feel no sympathy for you. I am merely looking into the interests of a friend. I do not care if this tale distresses you." Harry simply started at the man, eyes damp and unbelieving. Lucius took that for acknowledgment and continued. "You were conceived on the night of your father's initiation into the Dark Lord's service. Your father had been brought before the dark Lord with his father by a group of men sent to recover a sum of money Snape the elder had borrowed. The Muggle, successfully traded his son with the Dark Lord in exchange for his debt. Nape's first act of initiation, after he took the Mark, was to kill the man. He did, and was then paired with Bellatrix Le Strange, one of the dark Lord's more fanatical followers, for some smuggle torture. I do not know what happened to lead up to you becoming a viable mass of magic and blood, so do not ask. In the months following Bellatrix grew more and more detached from the dark lord, until one night she missed a meeting. Afterward he consigned me to come with him to her home, where he found her in labor. You were...stuck, for lack of a better term, and the dark lord, in the course of punishing her, freed you. I was given your rather...odorous form and told to dispose of you. I took you to the house of James and Lily Potter, who had just given birth to a stillborn some days earlier. As with pure blood custom, no one knew of it as births are traditionally announced one week after the actual birth, and only family knows otherwise. James is a distant relative of the Malfoy family, but close enough to still be on the Malfoy family tree. As head of house I was notified of their unfortunate case. Sine I owed James a life debt I took the infant given to me and secured the debt. That is how you ended up as Harry Potter."

harry stood, dazed. That was more information than he had been prepared to receive in any one sitting, let alone from a man that had tried to kill him two years ago, who he'd seen kneeling before Voldie Snort not two months ago. He guessed he and Snape had to be really good friends.

"So I have to make this?" He couldn't very well wrap his mind around the fact that his mother was some crazy death eater that thought the dark lord was gold, or something. He was Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived. Wasn't he? He blinked the salt water out of his eyes, and sniffed. "I don't know where I'm going to get beetle juice around here. Or fresh ashes. The Dursley's would kill me if I started a fire..." he wouldn't mention that Vernon would probably kill him as soon as he saw him whenever the man got home. Not to mention he wasn't allowed to use magic outside of school.

"There is another option." Lucius was looking at him, and for the life of him harry couldn't decipher what the man was thinking. That Slytherin mask was good. "Call your father."

Harry nearly scoffed, but held it in, nervously twirling the paper around in his hands. "Snape hates me."

"You are his son." Grey eyes pierced him. "He will not leave you here if you call him."

The tears he'd been fighting chose that moment to bubble up and spill over onto his face. Harry shook his head wildly, backing away to the relative safety of the Dursely's – who were not and never had been family – front gate. "I've got to go. I'm sorry."

And without finding out how the man knew where he lived or why the man cared if he stayed here or not, Harry fled.


	2. Chapter 2

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Some people have been complaining that the content of this chapter is (was?) far too graphic to not have a warning. On that score I have two things to say: 1) I genuinely did make a mistake with the rating. My trackpad on this laptop is crap, and it literally took me an hour to have this chapter posted the first time. I did not, regrettably, re-double check that everything was kosher after the cursor spazzed on me, and I've since raised the rating to a T. 2) I don't think this chapter warrants an 'M', so unless I get a warning from the site mod themselves, the rating isn't changing. I cannot promise that this will be the only semi-gory chapter of this fic, which is admittedly more dark and graphic than I had any plans for it to be, but I will promise to here on out post a little warning blurb at the beginning for those of us with queasy stomachs (not even gonna lie, I have one too) and maybe, if it's allowed, a line of text before the 'safe' parts of the chapter/s. Deal? And really, I've read more gore in a Goosebumps novel, this is tame baby.

But yeah, for all you new readers, THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SCENES OF VIOLENCE AND VENGEANCE, AND MAY NOT BE SUITABLE FOR ALL AGES. DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE A QUEASY STOMACH, OR DON'T LIKE SEEING (READING?) ABOUT BLOOD AND SCREAMING.

And so, without further ado,

Chapter Two

Dear Sir,

Bellatrix gave you something. He lives at Number Four, Privet Drive, Surrey. Please come.

Sincerely,

Your Son

As soon as he'd gotten himself together and had another look at the spell Lucius gave him (that required both tears of a female mermaid and something called a bugby skeleton) Harry had written the short note. He wasn't sure he could manage anything more and still be believeable, nevermind his still shaking hands, but he thought it was alright for the purposes. Still, he had to wait several hours for Hedwig to get back before he could send her out. She'd cuffed him around the head a few times before perching atop the rickety old desk in the corner and studied him through glaring eyes after she'd gotten in, but Harry took it all in stride, cooing to her softly and telling her all sorts of old things he'd confided in her before until she decided he was Harry still, despite his different looks. Harry took it all in stride, though he inwardly wanted to rip his hair out. It was just one more thing. One more thing on top of all the other things going on in his life.

And one more thing: the Dursley's were home.

Harry shuddered at the amount of noise Vernon was making. It was going to be one of those nights then. Vernon would wait until the sun set and then come at him, less belt action and more grabby hands, the faintest trace of alcohol on his breath. Not that Harry thought that was an excuse. At least his magic would protect him. At least until Vernon got tired of that and decided kicking him was a good compensation for not getting what he wanted.

He really wasn't looking forward to it. Nor to Snape not showing up.

There was the sound of breaking glass downstairs and then the man's unintelligible screams. Harry shuddered, sliding to the floor between the small cot bed and the wall and tried to breathe. He'd been through this before, lots of times. He could handle it. He could.

He hoped.

He was unaccustomed to owls. The time of year did not matter; there were very few people that would bother to write him, so few he could count them on one hand, and at least three of them had the option of firecalling or tracking him down if they needed to speak to him. Another had a more direct avenue of gaining his attention, so to speak.

He was unaccustomed to receiving owls from students. Usually the blubbering miscreants sought to stay as far away from him as possible, including the few that had the special spark for true potions making. Others had enough sense to know that the less they said in his presence the less he would notice them, and stuck to that rule.

He was unwilling to receive an owl from one Harry Potter. He had no reason to. The boy and he did not have anything to speak of, and for the life of himself Severus Snape could not think of a plausible reason the boy would be contacting him. Perhaps it was one of the child's guardians, writing to berate him for his harsh treatment and to give him advance notice that they'd be going to the press with the news that he was an active Death Eater that took pleasure in tormenting their beloved Boy-Who-Lived. He snorted, the excess breath ruffling the page of the potions periodical he had been reading. The admittedly beautiful owl glared at him from her perch not five inches away, at the very edge of the arm of his chair. He glared back, and was pleased, for some reason, to note that the bird didn't even flinch. At least the brat had a sensible familiar. Perhaps some of it would rub off, but he doubted it.

The owl suddenly gave a rather violent screech, taking off from her perch and soaring around the room in a flutter of jerky flaps that rather alarmed the seasoned Potions Master. Was he about to have dead bird on his carpet? He'd rather he didn't, if it was all the same to the bird. There was a rather loud 'thwack' accompanied by a pain in his head, and another and another until Severus was franticly shielding his head from the obviously mad bird. It sounded as if someone was trying to yank all of its feathers out at once, or some sort of similar torture, and Severus wasn't quite sure what to do about it, besides take the letter he hadn't bothered acknowledging till that moment.

The second he did the owl settled onto a nearby seat cushion, keening loudly in a manner that was disturbingly human-esque. He wondered about that, having had little exposure to familiars outside of Fawkes the phoenix, who was a rather extreme case after all. Every so often it would let out a sound suspiciously similar to a sob, or a yell of pain, and Severus found himself feeling vaguely uncomfortable, watching while the bird seemed to sway and flinch on the couch. It was unsettling, to see the least.

The paper in his hands smelled sweet in a way that indicated age, but was covered in pale blue lines and one intersecting red one. Muggle notebook paper, the like of which he hadn't seen in years. Decades even. One corner was folded in, dog-eared and the opposite edge jagged as if torn from a bound notebook. There was no envelope. Suddenly, he did not quite believe that the Boy-Who-Lived's guardians had sent him a letter full of biased vitriol.

No, this was a letter from The Boy Who Lived himself.

It very nearly died to the flames in his fireplace. Nearly. The sneer on his face would have earned Severus an audience with the Grim Reaper himself, the latter requesting lesson from the former. But the state of the still keening, sometimes screaming owl intrigued him. At the very least he would take the boy his owl back, perhaps even stay to watch as it died, to see the look of utter despair settle on those hated features.

Everyone knew Harry Potter loved his owl. Spoilt brat.

And with that thought in mind, Severus Snape opened his first piece of mail in three years.

If anyone had been present in the castle that evening they would see the man sprinting down the Great Hall, wand at the ready, skin pasty white and lips bloodless not twenty seconds after he'd read that note.

When Vernon came upstairs three minutes after dark had completely settled over Privet Drive, he brought the broken glass with him.

Not glass. Crystal. Petunia's special crystal vase he'd bought her for their ten year wedding anniversary six years ago, the one she had moved to the tiny, spindly-legged table standing in front of his cupboard door. The same spindly legged table he had moved aside in order to get his wand from his trunk. The table he'd forgotten to put back.

Harry had had to listen to the same lecture for a week, the varied topic being how he was not supposed to touch said vase because he was a freak and worthless and could not even begin to imagine how much that vase had cost and if he'd ever get his freakishness on said vase or damaged said vase in any way Vernon would take it out of his hide.

The look on Vernon's face was a calm, serene kind of murderous. From his seat on the floor in the tight corner, Harry let out a sound that was well and truly a terrified whimper, and he was not ashamed.

He was not ashamed either of fervently, _desperately_ wishing that Snape would show up.

Vernon took his time closing the bedroom door behind his girth. And locking it. Taking Dudley's half-broken chair and stuffing it under the doorknob. Placing the basket of crystal on the desk.

When he turned and caught sight of Harry his face turned a terrifying shade of green-purple.

"Boy?"

Harry swallowed, tried to speak and swallowed again. Normally Vernon demanded a verbal answer, but a part of Harry's brain, the part that had so eloquently said 'Why not?' earlier when Lucius Malfoy had called him out to the street, figured that since he was going to die anyway, nodding his head when he positively could not speak was just fine.

Vernon did not bellow. He did not charge across the small room and pick Harry up by his very curly hair and smash him into the wall like Harry knew he wanted to. Instead, a sort of eerie calm seemed to settle over the man. He stood up straight, eyes roaming over the teen's small form curled up on the floor and gave what might have passed for an exasperated smile on a more sane man.

"Disgusting freak."

When he did reach for him, it was an almost gentle grip that settled around his arm. Harry could not find the sense to resist, petrified as he was. The man's hand was uncomfortably hot, as if he had a fever of some sort, and clammy as if he'd just washed his hands and forgotten to dry them. It made the pit of his stomach throb and clench in fear.

When the first blow came it knocked him off his feet, Vernon still holding onto his arm.

A blast from his past Severus did not need.

Petunia Evans stood in the doorway of the home at the address the boy, his son, somehow, had given him, doing her best to block the rather wide doorway with her almost emaciated form. Severus was hard-pressed not to hex her or rip out his hair, or hex her and then rip out his hair, which seemed a perfectly acceptable course of action in his current state of mind, but managed to hold back. He did, however, shove his way past the Muggle woman into the house, magically yanking her back into the entryway and slamming the door shut as soon as he was safely inside. Legilimency was not a hex, or even a curse, but would still cause enough pain to satisfy his bloodlust for the moment, even if he didn't use as much blunt force as he did. So the boy _did_ live here, and my, what an interesting existence. He cared less about the fact that the boy wasn't spoiled at all and more about the fact that harry Potter was the only boy in the house eligible to be his progeny. The blond haired whale-child was a definite 'No', glamour spells and infant polyjuice notwithstanding. The series of memories ended in Petunia's husband carefully carrying a basket full of crystal shards up the stairs, murderous intent written all over his features.

Severus did not like where these revelations were taking him.

The whale-child was next, his mind alarmingly empty and chaotic. There were visions of it physically assaulting the Potter boy with a group of similar-minded boys his own size and age. Severus understood, then, Potter's blasted saving-people penchant. At least from an academic standpoint. Merlin forbid he actually _empathize_ with the nuisance. He could tell the blond whale had no true comprehension of _why_ he was allowed to treat his cousin the way he was, and also that the child didn't care either. Curious.

A floor-shuddering slam from upstairs and the immediate blood-curdling scream of pain after sent Severus climbing stairs in full Death eater mode.

Someone would die today.

There were five doors on the upstairs landing, three leading to bedrooms and one to a frilly Muggle lavatory and another shut against the invading carpet, no less than seventeen different dead-lock bolts arrayed on the outside, a cat flap at the bottom. A tinkle of crystal underscored by quiet, high-pitched keening and then another heart-wrenching scream, and Severus blasted through the door, destroying half the wall in the process and found his son.

Pressed against the mattress of a small, lop-sided bed under the weight of a obese blond man, lacking both pants and trousers, hands still applying pressure to the three-inches of crystal still above the skin f the small teen's shoulder, beefy red face ballooning out of an ugly silver dress shirt. Severus saw the mass of curly hair and those distinctive purple eyes, saw the blood and the tears covering a slim face he'd seen for most of his Hogwarts years and that damned lightning bolt scar.

With a flick of his wrist Vernon Dursley hung in the air, chubby hands desperately clawing at invisible hands, naked legs furiously kicking as he fought to breathe around the strangling curse. There was blood on the man's privates, half-dried and caking, and without a thought they were gone, leaving a bloody mess of flesh and pubic hair where they should be, Vernon screaming deep in his throat, blood pooling on the floor beneath his spinning body.

There was a pained whimper-sob from the bed and Severus turned, mentally shaking himself as he stepped toward the child. The child had never before been The Child, always The Boy, but now Severus couldn't bear to term his son as such.

His son. Not Harry Potter.

His son struggling to sit up, bits of crystal embedded in his chest and upper arms, the sheet beneath him shiny with blood. Gently, more gentle than he had ever been in his entire life Severus pulled the boy up, only to find the child's back in similar shape, more, smaller pieces of crystal arranged to spell the word 'FREAK'. Severus snarled, low in his throat and the child whimpered, trying to curl in on himself. Slowly, as if the magic he wanted needed to be cast gently, Severus encanted spell after spell, for pain relief and calm, stopping blood loss and preventing infection, identification and comfort. Soon the child hovered at chest level, cocooned in a magical bubble and slipping in and out of unconsciousness. The cold, roiling tide of his wrath crashed beneath the surface of his skin, and Severus loosed himself to the Death Eater within him.

With two sharp slashes of his ebony wand Petunia and her child sailed into the room through the floor. Summoning charms typically used the most direct clear path, but in his ire Severus had over-ridden that particular aspect of the spell. He didn't give any of them chance to scream, clinically throwing a series of slicing curses at the mass of flesh. He ignored the high-pitched, animalistic screams and with a tight swirl and flick exposed the whale-child's entrails to the air. Above his wife and son, Vernon suddenly stopped kicking. Severus did not approve. He released the man from the spell, forcefully slamming the massive body to the floor then through it, using a localized banishing curse on the floor beneath his feet to cause the top floor to cave into the first, hovering above the settling dust and pained cries with this son.

He considered sending the boy forward to his home, but decided against it. The child should see his vengeance. Even if he was only partially conscious.

Severus threw curses. Curses for starvation and pain and defeat, blunt force trauma and torturous variations, well-aimed and always hitting home. The last, after the three Muggle could do no more than blubber in their own blood and urine and feces, unable even to beg for mercy, Severus cast containment wards and notice-me-nots before casting fiendfyre, and taking his son home.

He'd tell Albus later.

Maybe.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: So, Snape's head is a bit…weird in this chapter, and I hope I managed to accurately portray his state of mind. Either way, at the beginning of the next chapter I'll post an explanation, but only if I get ten reviews asking about it. Like, if I managed to portray it right, obviously I won't have to explain, unless you guys want me to, and I can't know what you want if you don't tell me, right?

Shed Chapter 3

The full moon hung high in the night sky by the time he left the second bedroom in his moderate home. The crickets had long since stopped singing, and every so often the low, haunting hoot of an owl would sound in the area, reminding him in that unconscious way that there were other living creatures outside of his home, no matter that he lived miles away from any other humans.

Severus Snape silently paced into his living room, the edges of his loose house-robes gracefully trailing in the slight breeze his movements made. There was a cold, hard fury coursing through him, one that would not, possibly could not be worked out by anything other than blood sport, something he was leery of participating in at the moment; the child upstairs could not be left alone for long.

Spinning in place, he studied his rooms unseeingly, eyes flicking over the ever familiar bookcases and fireplace and side tables, the dull but intricate pattern on all his furniture, the burnished silver fixtures of his windows and doors, while his mind turned over and over the puzzle that had been presented to him only a few short hours ago.

Harry Potter. Or the boy that used to be Harry Potter.

But he could not even think that without a familiar bubble of hatred sprang to life in his chest. There was nothing Potter about the child upstairs. No. The small teenager was purely Snape, and Black, it seemed. The meaning behind the child's identity crashed down around him then, and the small porcelain basilisk sitting on the mantle exploded into tiny little glittering pieces on his rug.

He stared hard at the glittering bits around his fireplace, before moving in a blur, casting a quick '_incedio_' at the dried logs therein and then flinging the entire pot of Floo powder into the flames. "Malfoy Manor, Patriarch Study." It was not late enough that his call would be considered rude, and so Severus waited, not caring what the man, or his wife, would say about the unexpected call.

"Severus, I take it this is an emergency." Lucius' voice floated out of the fire. Tilting his head just so, Severus could see the man seated at a massive wooden desk, papers of all types and sizes covering the surface and a bottle of alcohol on a side table, a half-full tumbler in the man's left hand. The light from the hovering candles cast flickering gold shadows on the man's white blonde head. Severus sneered.

"I require your presence. Immediately." Without giving the man a chance to respond he terminated the connection, stepping away to gaze out of the large windows facing the untamed forest skirting his property. A minute later, the fireplace behind him gave a familiar tone and then Lucius stepped through, tumbler still in hand, gazing disapprovingly at his younger friend.

"I will assume this is a life or death situation." He shifted, before moving to take the comfortable armchair closest to the fire. "You know very well that Draco will be headed to bed in the next few minutes, an event I have _never_ missed in the child's entire time at home. What is your dilemma?"

"I have a child."

Severus was mildly satisfied to hear the soft sounds of choking behind him, before the man managed to clear his airways enough to form coherent thought. "Indeed, Severus? Congratulations! To which lucky young lady should I extend the same? When shall I meet my little – "

"Do not play games with me, Lucius."

There was silence for a moment, broken only by the crackling of the logs in the hearth. "I confess I do not understand, Severus."

He turned slowly from the window, onyx eyes appraising. "Truly?" The other man remained silent, which Severus thought was a wise move on his part. "I received a most interesting letter this afternoon. I followed its instructions only to find a child bearing a striking resemblance to myself in a muggle neighborhood. I removed the child, and something else, a single slip of parchment practically smoldering in your magical signature."

"Preposterous. What on earth would I be doing in a muggle neighborhood? And my magical signature is cloaked – "

"To the casual observer, yes. To someone who has known your for as long as I have, as intimately as I have, your 'cloaking' is precisely as effective as trying to hold the oceans in one's hands."

'I see." The blonde man took a sip of his drink. "However, your evidence is circumstantial at best – "

"Do you truly width to test me, Malfoy?" His voice was deadly quiet, the black of his eyes seeming to spread over the whites in his intense stare.

Lucius sighed, throwing back his drink. "Couldn't I at least receive a refill? You're being a terrible hostess, my friend."

A muscle in Snape's left eye twitched, before he crossed the room to the small free standing cabinet gracing a corner. Shortly thereafter Lucius' glass was filled, and his cultured tones carried through the air of the room.

"Bellatrix became pregnant with your child. Please do not feel the need to explain, because I really do not want to know how that happened. Over the next eight months she managed to hide her condition from everyone, the Dark Lord included, avoiding participation in blood sport and the usual muggle-baiting, etc., claiming illness. It worked, and though he was irritated, our lord let it go. She was, even then, his most devoted follower. Perhaps he held a bit of fondness for her, and so let her get away with it. Perhaps he knew all along and was simply waiting for the best time to enact his revenge, we will probably never know. All I do know is that around mid-summer he called me to a personal meeting. I thought it was about Draco, swearing my child to him only weeks after his birth, but he took me to the old Black manor in Manchester. You remember Rudolphus insisted they occupy the house? She was there – it was not good."

Severus glared at the man sipping his gin. "Explain 'not good'."

"Hmm?" Lucius blinked, licking his lips. Severus wondered just how much the man had had to drink beforehand. "Ah, yes. She was in the midst of childbirth, but something was wrong, the infant unable to move and she was screaming, thrashing and screaming and there was blood everywhere. Merlin knows what you did to her that night, Severus, because she tried to escape, all bleeding and everything, but the dark lord had already set up his wards, so she was stuck. He tortured her, apparently there's this whole sect of curses specifically related to women in childbirth, and then he, oh Circe, Severus don't make me say it."

The man's head had somehow ended up in his knees. Severus shot the top of the blonde head a contemptuous look before hauling the elder man up, aiming his ebony wand between the glazed grey eyes. "You will complete this story or I will deliver your drooling body to your wife in pieces." Truthfully, he was considering just yanking the memories from the man's mind and then throwing him back through the floo, but annoying as the man was, their friendship, the only true one he had, was a good one, and he couldn't damage it in a fit of impatience.

Lucius glared up at him loosely. "You're a terrible mean oaf, you know that?" He shifted, yanking his collar from Severus' grip before slouching down into the chair, a clear indicator that he was drunk. "He ripped the child right out of her. It was awful and messy and I never really considered there was that much blood in a single person, and then he handed the brat to me. It was blue all over, this _thing_ wrapped around its neck, not moving, I thought it was dead. He told me to get rid of it and to return to him in the morning. I did as I was told."

Severus studied the man across from him a moment. "Yet that same child, for there has been no other events of coitous or otherwise between Bellatrix and myself, is upstairs, asleep."

Lucius gave him a goofy grin. "Well of course he is. He's your boy, isn't he?"

Severus glared again, taking great care to resist the spike of annoyance the drunk counterpart of his closest friend brought up in him. Above all the other infuriating bits of the man, the fact that even drink as a skunk he could maintain proper speech irked him to no end. On the rare occasions that Severus got royally drunk he was lucky to sound like a human. "What did you _do_, Lucius?"

The blonde man frowned. "Well, I wrapped him in my scarf, the blue one Cissa had just brought me from France. She was absolutely livid I had lost it, you know, but I hadn't, but I was never wearing it again, I don't care how good the house-elves' cleaning charms are, and then I left, apparated out to that cliff we used to jump from when you stayed with me that summer. I dropped the kid over the edge and my house elf caught him, fixed him up and took him to the Potter's."

"You are hardly making sense, you imbecile." Severus fumed, wrenching himself from his seat and stalking in front of the fireplace. "How did your house elf know to catch him. _Why_ would you send him to the Potter's and not to _me_?"

"Well I told it to catch him, obviously. I wasn't about to kill my closest friend's child, now was I?" Lucius blinked at him from around his now refilled cup. "And the Potter's needed a kid because that little minx he married had just lost theirs, and I owed James a debt. Much easier to handle such things when you have something the other party needs. Wonderful bargaining chips, babies are. You'd never know, they're so tiny – "

"Lucius! Stop blathering and _explain yourself_!"

The man heaved a large sigh, placing his glass on the table nearest him and linking his fingers over his abdomen, gracing Snape with a severely patient expression. "Very well. The Potters and Malfoys share a rather eventful history. In 1804 one of my ancestors had his life rescued by one Ernesto Potter, who had until then been a rival milliner. It is the most recent spate of peace between our two families, despite their rather close blood relationship, and the debt has been passed down from that generation onward. I had a chance. Potter and his wife gave birth to a stillborn, but only the closest family would know it. His wife was a muggleborn as you know, and Potter himself was the last living heir to the entire Potter line, as well as a few other minor offshoots. His next closest kin is none other than myself. My best friend's child was supposed to be dead, ordered so by the dark lord himself. If I had taken him to you the dark lord would have killed us all, after a rather lengthy vacation in his dubiously furnished dungeons. The child needed a home, an ancient line needed an heir, and I wanted a way out of a debt I had no hand in creating. It was the perfect solution."

"You dare – "

"Yes, I do. Your son was adopted in all the really cool illegal ways to become Harry James Potter, heir to the richest and most influential Light family this side of the renaissance. When Potter and his wife died, that child inherited everything, and I do mean everything, and so even without your extensive yet paltry in comparison Prince inheritance, he has enough to sustain he and the whole of Great Britain for the next two decades, at least." His face softened. "I did not anticipate Potter's early demise, nor the squirreling away of a prominent wizarding child. I do hope you can forgive me for all this, in time."

Severus spun away, facing the window once more. There was nothing to forgive, in his mind. Lucius had done what he always did, used a situation to his advantage while securing his own ass and ends. No one had anticipated the dark lord suddenly targeting the Potters, but he had, and a child had been sentenced to a life of misery. Flashes of the child's memories played before his mind's eye and it took more effort than he thought necessary to squash them.

"And how do you explain the changes in his overall appearance?" Severus tilted his head back, stray wisps of hair laying across his face as he tried to _think_ the tension out of his body. "All methods of adoption banned by the Ministry would have made him the child of his parents in every available way permanently."

"Certainly true. However, Blood Magic is a terribly fickle branch of sorcery, don't you agree?"

Severus half turned, glaring at the other man, who had somehow slipped lower into the chair, and was gazing at the facets of his glass tumbler as if it contained all the answers of the universe. "Lucius, you are severely grating on my nerves."

"I appreciate the warning, darling." He took a deep drink. "Last year the dark lord used the child in a ritual to return his grace to a humanesque form, did he not? The sheer nature of the ritual would have been enough to dislodge any type of magic, but the dark lord chose a subject that had already been doused in the blood magics. Had the Potters used any of the Ministry approved spells, the child would have reverted to his correct biological appearance on that very night. However, blood magic is strange, and fickle, and so it washed away all the Potter's work. I have no true idea as to why it took so long, but there you have it."

Severus sighed, bringing a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. This was not at all what he thought his summer would look like. "I have a son, who has been raised by muggles that did not deserve the air they breathed. Lucius, I have a son with nearly a decade and a half of abuse and trauma to overcome, and I can hardly wrap my mind around it. I never expected this. What am I to do?"

"That depends. What do you want to do?"

"The logical, rational side of me wants to send him to Dumbledore as soon as he wakes up. The Weasleys can deal with his baggage and Dumbledore can twist the entire situation to fit his ends and I can continue with my work as I have been and forget this blasted day ever happened. The other side, however… "

"Yes?"

"That child is my son. Mine. Not Potter's, not Dumbledore's. Mine. I want him to stay with me, heal from his wounds and learn how to defend himself. He should never have lived the life he has, but that can't be changed, not really. The idea of sending him away – "

"Don't."

Severus spun, robes twirling in the force of his movements, towards the door where the small, frail voice had come from. The child stood there, pale as milk and quivering like a leaf in a storm, purple eyes much too large and dark for his face. "Don't send me away?"

"You will not be sent away, child." Severus said, slowly stepping towards the boy, who was almost bent double, clutching at his stomach. "You are not supposed to be out of bed."

But the child seemed not to hear him. "Don't send me away? I can cook, and clean, and I know how to pretend I don't exist so I'll never be in your way and I don't need much food, or water, I can just stay in a corner in a room so I won't take up too much space, I swear, You won't even know I'm here and you'll forget I am, I promise. Please don't send me away, please don't. Please."

Severus grasped the quivering chin, and bit back a curse. The child was practically smoldering in his skin, eyes glazed and unseeing. He frowned. "You are not going anywhere, child. Perhaps back to bed, but I will not send you away. "The combination of potions he'd given the child should have rendered him unconscious for the remainder of the night, at least. He'd treated the boy for all different types of infection, thankful that the potions didn't have any adverse reaction to each other. The fever was worrying, in that it should not have been there. He sighed, gently cupping the pale face in his hands.

Deep violet eyes latched onto his, glazed and heavy, the faintest spark of recognition lighting their depths. "Don't send me away."

"I will not."

The answer seemed to satisfy the child, who returned to his mission of curling himself into a ball in the middle of the floor. "Hurts" was all Severus managed to hear from the child's weak mumblings.

"Indeed." With barely a second of deliberation, the dour man bent at the knees, defly slipping arms around the much-too-small child and lifting him up and over before lowering the small form onto the couch. He sent a glare at a silent Lucius, who gazed at the unfolding scene owlishly. A quick series of diagnostic spells quickly revealed the problem: his liver had failed. Without that organ purifying the child's blood and producing all the chemicals the little healing body needed, the child would be dead in days. Severus growled low in his throat, resisting the urge to curse all muggles into oblivion and then drink himself into a coma. Merlin, hadn't the child been through enough? It had taken him hours to stabilize the brat, and now he ran the risk of losing the child he'd _only just gained_.

Most certainly not. "Lucius, un-inebriate yourself at once." He cast soothing spells and several localized stasis charms on the prone form before him. "We need to find a liver."

The other man immediately perked up. "Really? Well, that's marvelous. Are we going to break into a muggle hospital like we did that one time? Can I spend a bit of time in the intensive care ward again? Why do we need a liver anyway? Slimy things, taste horrible."

"It is not for eating, I assure you." Blankets materialized beneath his wand and he took extra care in tucking them around the fragile form. "It is for the child, and we will not be procuring it from a muggle."

The man's voice was suddenly serious. "St Mungo's then. I'll create a diversion while you retrieve what you need? I have the addresses of several mediwizards, if you would prefer that option."

"St. Mungo's will suffice, the Spell Damage ward to be precise." Alerting charms were next, every single one he knew existed. He would have to be quick, and terribly careful. A single wrong move here and the whole world would implode, or his at least.

"A Longbottom?"

"No. A Lockheart."

His head hurt.

Well not hurt, since that would imply that he actually felt something somewhere other than his stomach. He wasn't aware of Vernon landing more than a few punches in that area, and those really shouldn't be hurting unless the man had managed to throw him down the stairs again.

And he'd remember that, he was sure.

Thoughts of Vernon and the pain in his abdomen seemed to work wonders on his memory, and the next thing Harry knew he was struggling to sit up, gasping in pain but fighting through it, blinking the gummy mess out of his eyes as he tried to see just where he was.

Because Snape had come for him, he was sure. He hadn't seen much of the man, just those whippy robes and his snarly face for a split second before his world dived into distorted feelings and sounds and colors and he couldn't tell his head from a nargle. And now he was in a room most certainly not the smallest bedroom of Number Four Privet Drive. The bed he lay on was massive, larger than any he had ever seen, and there were rugs thrown all over the floor. A fireplace in one corner was filled with merrily dancing flames, and Harry was certain that nothing in the Dursely's house ever did anything merrily. The wardrobe and other random tables gave the room a polished, welcoming look, and Harry dearly wondered just what he'd gotten himself into.

"Good, you are awake."

With a startled yelp Harry jerked back, smacking his head loudly against the ornately coarved headboard. He was sure that whatever had been carved on said headboard was now permanently indented in the back of his skull, but didn't have much time to think about that.

Snape was staring at him.

The man stood in the doorway harry could only assume led into the hallway and into the house proper, dressed in a flowing black coat. Harry assumed it was a Muggle trenchcoat/robe hybrid. The man's face was completely blank, as it tended to be, and Harry had a moment to spare for irritation at _stupid Slytherins and their stupid masks_ before the man was speaking again.

"I trust that you are feeling better?" The man's dark eyes seemed locked on him, and for his life Harry couldn't resist the tiniest tendril of fear from squirreling into his stomach. "I would hope that you will advise me as to when you experience pain, child, or at the very least _speak_ when you are spoken to."

The man didn't seem the least bit angry, but Harry felt his aching stomach drop all the same, his hands begin to shake where he clutched them in the sheets in his lap. "S-sorry. I'm good, I-I feel fine, thanks."

Dark orbs studied him, and Harry _knew_ Snape knew he was lying. "Are you certain? The last pain reliever I administered should have worn off an hour ago."

Harry nervously licked his lips, dropping his eyes but carefully keeping the man in his peripheral vision. "M'stomach kind of hurts, a bit." His voice sounded raw and scratchy, and Harry marveled at that. He had been screaming a whole lot thanks to Vernon McTubpants, but he figured there was a healing potion for that. Perhaps not. He'd ask Madame Pomfrey about it, if he ever made it made to school.

"As I thought. Here." And suddenly there was something in his face, and Harry, jumpy teen that he was, gave a very loud, undignified squawk and smacked his head against the headboard again. Thankfully though, this time his battered cranium bounced right back off, and he only turned a rather vibrant shade of red when the man standing over him made some type of clucking noise. Harry briefly wondered if that was the potions master's version of a laugh, but the vial pressed nearly against his nose cut that train of thought off before it became too disturbing.

The potion tasted like boogers and sand, and Harry's face perfectly reflected what he thought about it.

"Quite. Preventative potions are perhaps the nastiest of brews." The bottle had found its way back to the man's hand and then disappeared altogether before the man spoke again. "You have questions."

It was perhaps the understatement of the week, seeing as Harry's head was full of all types of questions, particularly ones he knew would get him in trouble. The thing was, the 'why the hell not?' feeling was back again, settling over him like a heavy blanket, and so his words rather tumbled out over themselves.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" He peered up at the man half-suspiciously from under the thick curly bangs hanging over his eyes. He didn't think he'd ever get used to this kind of hair, especially when he wanted to look or do something and it hung in his face like some kind of twisted blindfold.

For his part, Snape looked a bit floored by the question, as much as he was able to be. He took a moment longer to respond than Harry thought necessary, at any rate. Dark eyes studied him for what felt like forever, and it was the longest period of time Snape had ever looked at him without a sneer; Harry wasn't entirely sure it could be called progress, but he'd take what he could get. The man was his _father_ after all.

"You are my son."

Harry resisted the urge to scoff. It was technically very true, and so he couldn't fault the man on his reasoning, but there seemed to be a little something the potions professor had forgotten. "I'm Harry Potter."

The man stiffened. "You are not."

"Are you being deliberately obtuse? I'm Harry Potter, the student you've hated ever since you laid eyes on him nearly six years ago, the one you make a point to humiliate and torment every time you see him. I'm – "

"You are _not_ Harry Potter. You are – "

"HARRY POTTER! HARRY POTTER HARRY POTTER HARRY POTTER! NO MATTER HOW MUCH YOU SAY I'M NOT, I STILL WILL BE HARRY POTTER, YOU GREAT BLEEDING – "

"ENOUGH!" Severus' bellow left a faint ringing in Harry's ears, or maybe that was just the blood rushing through his veins. He didn't know just when he'd began screaming, or when he'd moved from curious suspicion to outright fury, but he knew he was absolutely livid, and nothing Snape said would change that. "You are not Harry Potter, and I will not say so again. You. Are. My. Son. The means to ensure otherwise were illegal, unreliable and shoddily done, and had I known, had I even _suspected_ the truth you would never had been placed in either of those homes."

Except maybe that. Suddenly there were tears pricking at his eyes, and Harry scowled down at his clenched fists. It wasn't fair that Snape could appeal to the damaged, daddy-wanting part of him when he was trying to be angry.

Except he knew what would make the man furious again, and get them back on familiar ground. "You will never replace my dad."

Snape scoffed. "Idiot. I _am_ your dad."

"You're nothing but a slimy snake!" His balled fists slammed into the springy matress beneath him. "My dad was good and brave and perfect and he died for me – "

"_I_ AM YOUR FATHER! I HAVE _KILLED_ FOR YOU! James Potter was a sniveling bully who never did anything unless it benefitted him! You ungrateful, spineless brat! I –"

"Why should I be grateful to you? All you've ever done is hurt me, even if you saved my life a few times. You think – "

"Exactly, because I have _saved your life_. This past day, in fact. You were injured so badly your liver gave out and had I not caught it, had I not taken the steps to ensure that you would _live_ you would be lying in a morgue at this very instant."

Snape's face was only inches from his, blotchy in the man's anger and eyes slightly bulging, but Harry couldn't find the presence of mind to be angry anymore. He'd almost died? The thought seemed so unreal, so far-fetched… Sure he'd been in life-or-death situations before, but that had been with Voldemort… It was different, somehow. Was he really that fragile? Snape straightened above him, studying him with those semi-creepy eyes he had, but Harry was only half aware of it, his mind still trying to wrap it's mind around the fact that Snape had saved him. Not because Dumbledore told him to, even though the man probably would have, or because he was getting something from it. Snape had saved him because he, Harry, was his.

"Well." His throat tightened, his voice sounding uncomfortably soft and small, and he anxiously twisted the blankets around in his hands. "Well, that's what parent's do, right?"

The room was silent for a moment, broken only by the crackling flames in the grate. Then, "Indeed."

Severus watched the small body on the bed, mentally planning the drinking binge he would indulge in as soon as he could find a suitable babysitter. He had known teenagers were difficult, he worked with them every single day, considered himself an expert on the little cretins, even. He had prepared himself for this, the stubbornness, the arguing, the shouting, but Merlin did he want to break something, and then drink. Lots and lots of drinking. Perhaps he'd take Lucius with him. He didn't know yet. What he did know was that the child was quiet, and a quiet child, teenagers included, meant trouble. Just what he needed…

"So, you really don't care that I used to be Harry Potter, and you expect me to accept that?"

The voice crept softly across the space between them, and it was only Severus' sharp hearing that kept the child's mumbled question to be lost to the world of sound. If it had been any other child, Severus would have lit into them with enough vitriol to slay a dragon, especially in light of the child's earlier attitude. As it was, this child was his, and try as he might, he couldn't muster up a modicum of ire to save himself.

"You never were Harry Potter, child. That boy has never existed, or died yesterday, whichever option you prefer."

"But I'm sitting right here."

"You are. He is not."

"That doesn't make any sense!" There was a muffled thump behind him and Severus turned to see Harry splayed across the bed, exasperation written clearly across the face pointed towards the ceiling.

"It does to me. It does not matter whether you agree or not." The child stared at the ceiling, and in studying the smaller, up-turned profile Severus sent a silent prayer of thanks up that the child had inherited his mother's nose, and not the Snape beak that had so plagued his youth.

"So, you want me to just forget it all then? Forget all you and I have been through, the potions classes, the jibes, the Occlumency – "

"I hold to the opinion that it would be best for your mental health if you would put aside these perceived past experiences so that we may move forward." He shifted, coming to stand at the foot of the boy's bed. "I can provide a permanent solution to this problem, if you wish it."

The little pointed face flushed momentarily, before blanking out completely. Severus could practically see the effort the child had used, but that was fine. Children were not born with their Slytherin masks, no matter how Slytherin their parentage. The child would learn, and that was all that mattered at the moment. At least to him.

"What would you have called me, then?"

The child evidently had other matters on his mind. Severus blinked, then blinked again. He had never thought about it, had never ever considered having a child, sharing his body with another. Bellatrix had been most insistent that one night long ago, and stubborn though he was, the nights initiation sports had lit his blood afire in a way he had never experienced before, and he had been powerless to her touch. A child, a child all his own for him to have and hold and care for had been perhaps the furthest from his mind, something he had not even known he'd wanted till the note he'd received the previous evening had stabbed in the chest and constricted around his heart. Still though, the child needed an answer, needed a name…

"Caer. Caer Anthriel."

The boy seemed to swallow as he sat up before gazing at him suspiciously. "You just made that up."

"I did. I had never before thought I would have a child. You are quite a surprise."

"Isn't a Caer a king? Are you trying to tell me something?"

"'Caer' is Welsh for 'fortress' or 'citadel'. It has been used, incorrectly, as a term of sovereignty for rulers of small, independent nations, like Azkaban, before it had been taken over in the early thirteenth century."

"I feel like I'm getting a lecture. Will there be an essay?"

Severus leveled the boy with a mild glare. "Perhaps, if you do not watch your tongue."

"Hmm. Anthriel?"

"The angel of balance and harmony. Believers in such things pray to him for calm, and the ability to live their life in moderation. Do you approve?"

The child considered for a moment. "City of Harmony and Balance. I don't know, it sounds kind of prophetic."

"Consider it a prayer, or if you prefer, your father's wish for your life."

The child blinked up at him. "balance?"

"A life lived to the fullest, experiencing everything you can, with no regrets. Balance." He nodded.

The child shot him a nervous look. "Says the Death Eater."

Severus met those purple eyes and inclined his head once, never losing eye contact. "Says the father."

Caer looked away, blinking more than was strictly necessary and Severus felt tension he didn't know he'd had flow out of him. Things weren't perfect by a longshot, they'd have another argument in another hour, he was sure, but for right now his child wasn't yelling at him or being deliberately obtuse, and Severus felt himself relax while he could.

"Did Vernon, did he – ?" The child was fighting back tears, that much was obvious to him even if the hunched posture and the fists tightly clenching the blankets hadn't made it so. Severus didn't blame the child. It had to be haunting him, not knowing if he'd been violated in the worst way possible when your last memories were headed along those lines, not being able to tell if you had been because everything had been healed. The boy's magic had thankfully managed to save him from that fate, even if it hadn't saved him from the muggle's abuse entirely. Still, the child needed to know. If it had been any other child he'd have drawn it out, just because their species as a whole was too annoying to be legal. But with his son, he didn't even consider the thought.

"He did not."


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note:

Firstly, I love each and every one of you readers and reviewers. You make writing a blast. I'm not sure why you all like my particular brand of insanity, but I love and appreciate you all anyway.

Just a few things to clear up:

At the end of last chapter when Harry, sorry, Caer, asks Sev "Did, did he - ?", Caer's asking if Vernon got to rape him, which he didn't, both because Caer's magic was holding him at bay and because Snape was a very mad daddy. Snape _thought_ Vernon had earlier in the chapter, but upon healing his little boy (he hates all this sappiness, FYI) he realized that no, Vernon hadn't.

Secondly, the loss of her little boy is only part of the reason for Bella's insanity. I don't want to get too much into it now, since I've got to introduce her and that doesn't happen till next chapter, but rest assured, it will be addressed.

Lastly, I know the description says AU after fifth year, but I've got to change that. It's AU after fourth year. Which means there will be Sirius. And SPOILER: Everyone, and I do mean everyone, ends up in Grimmauld Place. Can you hear my evil laughter? No? Listen harder.

CHEERS!

_Later that same night_

Severus sighed over the tumbler of gin in his hand, leaning his hip against the sideboard cluttered with the glittering, half-filled bottles of various types of alcohol he'd collected and emptied over the years. Half of them were gifts from Lucius. The other half he'd liberated from Lucius' and other lesser associates' cellars. It wasn't his fault he couldn't be bothered to spend a dime on good alcohol when there was so much to be had for free. If his associates disapproved of his methods then they should cast better locking charms, and stop buying the brands he liked.

He gazed out of the windows overlooking the rather desolately wild-looking forest, and sighed again. The cup was far too small for his needs, and so he wandlessly enlarged its interior, before filling it to the brim.

Caer was asleep in his bedroom, something Severus found himself eternally grateful for. The single conversation, if it could be called that, had taken more out of him than a week with the Dark Lord. Perhaps because Severus always knew how to please and appease the unhinged wizard, and teenagers were as volatile as the most unstable potions on a good day. At least they'd come to some sort of agreement. At least the house was still standing.

Soft footsteps pulled him from his reverie, and he turned to find Lucius staring at him from the doorway. The slightly annoying, inebriated version of the blonde had been tucked away, and standing before him was the aristocrat that most of the magical community feared, peering down at him in disdain. Severus rolled his eyes, taking a deep drink from his glass.

"Have you managed to remove the blood from your robes as yet?" he asked, slipping into his armchair lest the other claim it again.

"It is impossible to remove blood from that type of silk, Severus. I have incinerated the pair, and when Narcissa makes her inquires I shall be sure to point her in your direction." As he spoke, Lucius had drifted further into the room, pointedly shooting venomous looks over his shoulder at his host as he recognized bottles of wine and cognac he'd thought he'd misplaced. "I don't suppose I can persuade you to explain yourself?"

Severus shot him a quick look over his glass and shrugged. "Your locking and cloaking charms were pitifully weak."

"That is not what I meant, though I do wonder if I have you to blame for Draco's lastest drunken binge…"

"If your fifteen year old son can break into your drinks cupboard, Lucius, I do think it's time you invested in stronger spells."

"Speaking of fifteen year old sons, Severus," the man in question casually sipped his drink, staring into the fire. "How will you explain yours?"

"I do not plan to."

"You intend to hand him over to Dumbledore? Are you – "

"Dumbledore is irrelevant."

Severus stared into the flames before him, internally smug that he could infuriate the man like this. It served the blonde right for thinking he hadn't planned on covering his tracks. Like he'd really let the imbecilic Ministry apprehend him; of course he was smarter than that.

"Severus, you are not making sense. I cannot read your mind, so perhaps you can enlighten me as to just _what_ you mean."

"Have a seat, Lucius." He waited until the older man settled himself rather slowly into the armchair opposite and fixed him with an impatient expression before he rose to refill his glass, stifling a smile at the exasperated noise Lucius made behind him. Settling once more into his chair, Severus transfigured an ottoman from a spare table and put his feet up, gazing at the other man smugly. "Pay attention, for I will only say this once. I have no intention of explaining the presence of my son to anyone. He is mine, and anyone who questions otherwise will face the tip of my wand."

"And Harry Potter going missing around the same time that Caer appears out of the ether is com_pletely_ unquestionable – "

"Harry Potter will die later this afternoon. After that Caer's existence will not be questioned."

Lucius stared at him as if he thought he was mad. Severus smirked into his cup. The man was probably fuming at his deliberately obtuse explanation. It wouldn't be long before –

"Severus, I am giving you one minute to explain this madness _properly_ before I curse you into next month."

"I truly don't see how you fail to understand my plan. Harry Potter will die by the hand of the dark lord as soon as the golem is complete. The dark lord will boast, Dumbledore will undoubtedly hear about it and the Order's hope will be crushed. I intend to keep Caer as far away from the realities of this war for as long as possible, and ideally he will be discovered long after the memory of Potter has faded."

"A golem, Severus? That wouldn't fool a second year muggleborn, let alone the dark lord."

"Not the artificial lumps of clay found in the common dark arts books, no. But I am a potions _Master_, Lucius, with access to a rather large amount of material to work with."

Grey eyes narrowed suspiciously at him. "So you've managed to create a simulation of life realistic enough to imitate true life? That sounds like the deepest of the dark arts, Severus."

"Quite, but that _would_ be why the dark lord favors me so, why he keeps me so close; I'm the only one of his followers that have walked as close to the edge as he has, the one who truly knows the true extent of his power, his weaknesses, his failures."

"Not that I don't enjoy you waxing poetic, but perhaps we could revert to the subject at hand?"

"Most certainly. What else would you like to know?"

"How you're going to avoid Azkaban, for one. You've killed four people in less than twenty-four hours."

"Correct. However, consider a few things. One, fiendfyre destroys everything. If I had by chance left any evidence of my presence at Number Four, Privet Drive I assure you that the strength of the demon flames I conjured in my state of mind was sufficient to destroy it completely."

"And your containment spell? The fire did not escape the confines of the Muggles property."

"There are dozens of containment spells all over the wards Dumbledore set up supposedly over the blood wards. We would cast them regularly while watching the Potter boy, since his fits of pique tended to leak magic into the area. There is no way to determine the time spells were cast."

Lucius considered him shrewdly. "You've been clever. And Lockhart?"

"I strangled him. There is no magical residue from a spell because I used my bare hands. There are no muggle forensic scientists in the magical world, and so apart from the bruises around and in his neck, that I've healed, there is no way to tell if he was killed or if he died in his sleep. "

Lucius stared. "You realize that the Dark Lord will boast of your involvement?"

"Indeed. I care very little for that. Dumbledore will believe what I will tell him. If I decide to tell him anything at all. "

"Unhappy marriage?"

Severus gave the man a withering look. "I've been disillusioned. He said Potter was safe, and he wasn't. I will not be fooled twice."

"And the story you plan on telling him?"

"Potter somehow escaped his relatives house at the first sign of trouble. He appeared in my front yard beaten and bloody, and I ungraciously dragged him inside to tend to his wounds. However, while I was outside seeing just who had trampled my _Dividious Diem_, Voldemort had flooed in, like he sometimes does randomly. I walk in dragging a bleeding Potter and he assumes I've brought him the boy who lived. How am I to disprove him of this theory? Was I to save the boy in point blank range? No, the Dark Lord wasted no time in carting both of us away, and I never saw the Potter boy again."

"And you expect him to believe that?"

"He will, or I will make him. Though I doubt I will have to. Dumbledore is sickeningly fond of assuming the best in people. Moreover, he will need his 'spy' in the Inner Circle now more than ever."

"A spy then. Intriguing, Severus."

"Most certainly. I live for it. Will you be joining me?"

"Joining you?"

"Yes, joining me." Severus sipped from his drink. "You have willingly aided the Dark Lord's nemesis, and even if he does not find that out he will once Caer's existence comes to light. You will not be safe from him, not when he puts the pieces together. You must have realized this."

"And you must have realized, Severus, that you will not be safe from him either, when Caer's existence comes to light. The fact remains that Caer used to be Harry Potter, and even without the boy's actions against him, the fact that the boy was supposed to be dead, even if at my hands, and you let him live will surely sign your death warrant."

Severus couldn't argue with the man's logic. It was infallible. Voldemoert would surely kill them all as soon as he realized what was going on. "So then, what do we do?"

Lucius shifted, looking into the flames. "We wait. And watch. And while we wait we will plot and plan and protect what is ours. The Dark Lord has taken more from us purebloods than he has given. It is time we remove his powerbase."

Severus hummed around his glass. "You've been plotting, friend." Lucius made an impatient sound. "Tell me?"

"As if you hadn't already planned on making me. Sometimes I tire of your games, Severus."

"Yes, but you cannot deny they do make a pleasant afternoon rather interesting." Ignoring Lucius' glare, Severus prompted. "You mentioned removing the Dark Lord's powerbase?"

"Yes," Lucius said grudgingly. "For all his touting the Slytherin ancestry, beyond a talent for parseltongue he hasn't shown a single trait of the blood. He has no money to himself, I know, because I pay for everything, or get Crabbe and Goyle to do it. I've checked Gringotts; he has no access to the ancient Slytherin vaults, so without his Death Eaters paying his bills he's just an angry little wizard."

Severus scoffed, meeting Lucius' eyes. "Angry he may be, but the dark lord is powerful, and hardly little. Last I checked he was nearly seven feet tall."

Lucius' eyes bored into his, a smirk just hidden in the corner of his mouth. "I assure you, Severus, the Dark Lord is little in all the ways that matter."

His brows furrowed in confusion a moment before Severus sputtered, spilling drops of his drink down his chin and robes. "Lucius, must you! You've put me off my drink!"

The blonde man chuckled merrily at him from the other seat, mercury eyes glittering in the firelight. "I can't help it if it's true."

"I trust you hadn't gone searching for this information through firsthand experience," Severus spat.

The room seemed to freeze, even the fire in the grate dimming and flickering ever so slightly in the sudden wash of magic. "He approached Narcissa once. It was the beginning of his end."

"Approached?" There was a note of Steel in Severus' voice.

"Malfoy marriage vows prevent adultery in either spouse. You brewed several restorative potions for him that year."

"You're holding a grudge." Severus smirked.

"No, merely nursing a healthy thirst for revenge."

"Hmm." Severus shifted, reaching for his drink once but then deciding against it. "He is still taking those restoratives, less frequently, but he is. There are adjustments I can make..."

"I would appreciate it." They were silent for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts.

"Thank Merlin I'm not married."

Lucius gave what could have been a chuckle and smiled. "You will be yet."

Severus dearly hoped, under the swirling thoughts of future plans and how to dodge Dumbledore (because he knew he would have to) that Lucius wasn't going to try to set him up _again._ Really, he did not enjoy hexing women, but those Lucius thought appropriate... He stifled a shudder. Lucius smirked.

"Convincing the Death eaters and even those Dark-leaning families to cease funding the dark Lord's efforts will be difficult if we had a reason unpalatable enough for them to consider a complete break. Without one..."

"Severus, surely you didn't think I don't know that. I've done some digging, and Gringotts had been immeasurably helpful, I think he offended them or something, but they deserve a raise, and while the dark Lord is descended from Salazar Slytherin, he is very, very much a half-blood."

Curious onyx eyes turned to the blond. "You're serious."

"I am. He has covered his tracks very well, but there is very little that gold and a little leaning with my name can't unearth. Born Tom Marvolo Riddle to one Tom Riddle, a muggle and Merope Gaunt, last of the Slytherin line, which had run itself into the ground with it's prejudice and intermarrying. Gaunt was little more than a squib, and only managed to hook Riddle with a simple love potion. Or some variant. Most of the ingredients needed for even the simplest would have been far beyond their means."

"I thought Slytherin was rich. Line of a Founder, and all that?"

"The line is. Land and titles left mostly, but the Gaunts and their ancestors had wasted what they had access to. The vault had locked them out sometime in the late 1800's."

"Interesting. So his pureblood doctrine has no basis."

"Oh it has a basis. He's an upset child. The muggles in the orphanage he grew up in were mean to him, until he discovered his magic and used it to torment them, in which case they hated and feared him, which sounds very familiar."

"Orphanage?"

"Mother died in childbirth. She released the father from the potions some months earlier, thinking that the potion had taken hold already. He left, disgusted, and went back to his family. Never sought out the child."

"Alive"

"Young Riddle killed them all sometime in his last two years of schooling."

"Merlin."

"Indeed."

He needed more liquor. Severus stared at a particularly full bottle of elf mead on the sideboard, willing it to fly over to him without the use of his magic. It did not move, and Severus glared.

"Severus, really, are you five years old or nearly forty?" With an annoyed flick of his wand the bottle floated over, only to smack Severus in the forehead as he reached for it.

"And you're calling _me_ the five-year-old." Severus plucked the bottle from the air and refilled his cup. He was halfway through downing the whole thing when the wards went off.

Severus choked, and swore, lurching up from his chair and heading towards the front door, the _open_ front door, coughing and sputtering and just when his brain caught up with his eyes and he thought he'd kill his son for his _stupidity,_ the dark mark on his arm flared, and he doubled over in pain.

The dark lord was excited. Caer had left the house, by broom, if the wards were to be believed, and there was a roiling knot of panic wreaking havoc on his insides.

"Caer set off the wards?" Lucius was suddenly beside him, clutching his own arm.

Severus nodded weakly, absorbed in throwing up his Occlumency shields to combat the pain.

"This is no coincidence, you realize, Severus?"

And suddenly the world was clear, the debilitating pain a shadow of discomfort in the back of his mind, all of his faculties focused on Caer, and the danger the child was surely flying into, Caer flying to meet Voldemort, and the air around him shifted and crackled with energy, and Lucius looked on in awe.

"Merlin, but I will never upset you, friend."

"I should hope not."

"Indeed. Are we prepared? This charade will end tonight, whether we live or die."

"We will live. Anyone who endangers my son will not."

And they apparated into the night.

The night air was freezing. If he had realized flying so high would have made him so cold he'd have put on another sweater. Or not. There hadn't been much time for thought in between the moment he woke from his _nightmare_, termed so because he was not Harry potter and therefore it wasn't a _vision_, the bullocks, and scrambling to find a way to get out of the house in time.

Voldemort had found Hermione's house.

In his vision there had been a small group of his death eaters on her street, headed by Voldemort himself. Harry had never had a chance to call the girl over holidays, but he had made a point to remember her address, just in case he ended up without a place to stay like the summer before third year. Just in case her parents were as nice as she was. Just in case he really needed to see.

So when the death eaters had moved down a street and he'd recognized the name, looked at the numbers and put two and two together, it was all he could do not to scream in protest. But he couldn't scream, couldn't move, or at least he couldn't tell if he was screaming or moving until he'd rolled out of bed and grabbed the first piece of fabric he'd come across as he stumbled to his feet, mind frantically working on a plan, any plan at all to get him to his best friend before something unforgiveable happened.

And then he'd remembered Snape. Snape was a wizard. Wizards had magical travel. Couldn't use the floo, because as far as he knew Hermione's house wasn't connected and he couldn't apparate so that left flying, and he'd racked his brain to remember where Mrs. Weasley had told him most people stored their brooms and then it was out of his room, the room Snape had insisted was his, down the stairs and past the door where Snape and Malfoy were talking, and Harry didn't know how he felt about _that_, and in the cupboard by the door were four almost new Nimbus 2000's and he'd grabbed one and dashed out the door and up into the air and then he was going, going, gone.

He had no idea where he was, really, and the only compass he had was the vague ache of Voldie's excitement thrumming through him like some sort of weird existential mirror. He wasn't Voldemort and he didn't feel like Voldemort, but Voldemort's feelings were racing through him as surely as his own panic ruled his heart. So he turned west, flying with the breeze, and nearly being toppled over by the warring air currents and then when he was so close he could feel Voldemort's magic thrumming through him and then leave his body in a swirling vortex of cruelty and then there was a plume of fire rising up out of the darkness not four streets away from him and Harry's insides plummeted.

Down on the ground he stashed the broom in a pile of bushes next to an absurdly pink wall two streets away from the destruction, then took off on bare feet towards Hermione's house, ignoring the terrified screams and cries for help because he was here to find one person, his person, Hermione and he turned a corner and her house, the one she'd shown him in pictures at school was surrounded by a wall of death eaters just firing away at the house, the tips of their wands shining blues and purples all tinged with a sickly sort of haze and their spells hitting up against a wall of blue energy that sizzled with each hit and Harry knew, _knew_ that Hermione was in there casting protection spells and holding them off as hard as she could. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he doubled back, trying to find an opening to get into her back yard. Hermione had never been particularly magically strong, a weakness she'd admitted herself on more than one occasion between them. Clever, yes, and brilliant, most certainly, but she'd never been able to cast the big spells with much power or continuity. The thought of her inside her house, probably with terrified parents, casting and recasting spells for who knows how long scared him. How much longer could she hold it? How much longer until the Death eaters won?

Harry launched himself over a fence of a house directly behind Hermione's, judging by the sort of almost balcony she had told him she'd built after their third year jutting out from behind the house' roof, sprinting across the yard and over the back fence, scraping hands and knees and cutting his foot on something sharp sticking out of Hermione's mother's garden. He'd taken three steps when the icy bite of a wall of magic washed over him, leaving him shivering in her backyard, but unharmed. He assumed the wards had passed over him since he wasn't a threat, and shaking off the cold, stumbled up to the back door.

It swung open to his touch, and Harry rushed inside, entering a cluttered kitchen and coming face to face with the end of a rifle.

"Mr. Granger?" He really didn't know what he was supposed to do. Harry had forgotten that the granger's were muggles, and so had access to muggle weapons. He'd also sort of assumed Hermione was a class all her own, self-assured and contained and a force to be reckoned with when backed up against the wall. He hadn't considered that those may have been traits passed on from her parents, for right behind Mr. Granger, on the third stair up on the staircase was an older woman with Hermione's hair, holding a smaller gun in her hands.

"Who're you?" The shotgun didn't budge from where it was pointed between his eyes. Harry's heart raced, both with the fear of Hermione's safety and from his mad dash to her rescue. He needed a minute to just breathe, but not now.

"I'm Harry Potter. I came to help Hermione."

In the dark Caer couldn't see just what color the man's eyes were, or the exact look on his face, but in the dim wash of blue light filtering in from the front windows he could see the man didn't believe him. "You don't look like Harry Potter. Short kid,thin, sticky black hair, glasses. You've got none of that."

"I know. I, it's a long story." Never before had Caer realized how much he took his face, Harry Potter's face, for granted. He'd never had to _prove_ he was himself, and he didn't _need_ to now, not when he was trying to save their lives. "But I am Harry Potter I swear it. Can you just – "

"Prove it." There was a click from the gun and Caer instinctively flinched, suddenly remembering what a gun was and was capable of and where it was pointed and how this man did not know who he was and that there was an attack on his home and how Caer was lucky to still be alive and talking. "I'm Harry! Hermione and I've been friends since first year when Ron and I saved her from the troll. In second year she got turned into a half-cat girl because of a polyjuice mix-up and in third year she and I went back in time and – "

"Harry?"

The weak, wobbly voice of his best friend cut him off. She stood on the stairs behind her mother, normally frizzy hair hanging limp around her face, dark circles under her eyes visible even in the dim light and a smear of something dark running from her nose. It took less than a second for Caer to realize she had a nosebleed and then he shoved past both parents to catch the girl as her knees gave out, tipping her forward as she lost her loose grip on the handrail.

"What are you doing here?" Trust Hermione to ask the unimportant questions in the middle of a life-or-death situation when she could barely stand up.

Caer knelt on the stairs, ignoring the length of Hermione's wand pressing into his kneecap and her crowding parents. "I saw the death eaters attacking your house, but I was asleep, I dunno. Voldemort is in my head, or vice versa. Can you walk?"

"No." She blinked slowly. "Why do you look like that. Is that a glamour?"

"Hermione, not right now. I swear I'll tell you later but we've got to go."

Sweetheart, are you sure this is Harry?" Mr. Granger stood behind them, and Caer just knew the mouth of that gun was pointed at his head.

Hermione tensed, eyes suddenly boring into his. "Who told you where babies came from?"

Caer felt himself flush. "You."

"It's him." Hermione relaxed and struggled to her feet, and Caer looped an arm around her waist and helped her down the stairs. "I can't cast any more spells. I sent a patronus to Professor Dumbledore and I tried to hold out until they got here, but it's been nearly an hour." She shivered. "I'm cold."

"I've got a broom a few houses down. I hid it in a bush next to a pink wall. It – "

"Oh Harry a broom can't carry all of us. You'll have to make a portkey, or wait for Professor Dumbledore to arrive – "

The dim blue light suffusing the house suddenly went out, plunging them in darkness. There was a momentary hush only broken by distant screams and the roar of raging flames, and then a battle cry rose from the front yard, and Caer's heart leap into his throat.

"Run."

Out of the back door and across the yard they ran, his grip iron tight around Hermione's smaller hand, her parents racing along behind them. Over the fence they went, Mrs. Granger's gray t-shirt flapping in the breeze as she went, Hermione next, Caer and Mr. Granger pushing her over. Harry went next, and just at the top of the wooden fence the back door flew open, robed figured flooding out into the yard.

"Get my daughter out of here!" was the last thing Caer heard before Mr. granger shoved him over the fence, and the rhythm of gunfire and screams cut into his ears as he stumbled to his feet, grabbing both women's hands and racing away.

They'd cleared two other houses before the gunshots stopped. Hermione gave a strangled cry and a frantic attempt to turn back, wrenching her hand out of his grip. Caer spun, latching onto her sweater and yanked just as a Death Eater rounded the curb and fired. Caer threw himself at the girl, knocking them both to the ground and a second later there was a gunshot fired over their heads, and Mrs. Granger screaming "Get the hell up and run, dammit!"

And then they were running, bare feet smacking against the pavement.


	5. Chapter 5

_**AN**_: Sorry about the first posting of this chappie. I don't know if its because this was originally a OpenOffice document, but all of the quotation marks and separation in the paragraphs somehow disappeared. But I fixed it, finally. Thanks to the reviewer who pointed it out.

There were death eaters everywhere.

Severus apparated in and the wash of his pulsating magic stopped a few death eaters where they stood. They recognized him and cheered, the rising chorus of voices cut off by the neon green of his electrical curse as it rocketed from his wand through the air and through their bodies. Lucius made a sound of disgust behind him at the scent of burning flesh, but Severus paid him no mind.

The Granger house was empty. Not empty of life, since a few idiotic minions were trashing the Muggle possessions there, but void of magical energy. The Granger girl had been casting, her signature all over the walls, and another faint signature Severus knew was his son, leading out the back. In the seconds it took for the cry of triumph from the surrounding death eaters to change to one of alarm, Severus had scanned the area and pinpointed his son. Muggles left no signatures, but he knew that there was only one adult with his child.

The distant sound of gunfire suddenly ceased, and Severus snarled. With a heady sort of blood-thirst he swept through the house and into the backyard, clogging the air as he went with sulfuric fumes designed to kill. Mr Granger lay on the ground, twitching from the spell held by an idiotic recruit, and Sev smiled.

Another overpowered electricity spell and the small group of death eaters were dead. Lucius snarled, and there was a barrage of spells cast behind him, but Severus paid no heed. They would die, Lucius was short tempered enough to ensure that. He needed to find his son. With more patience than he had he gripped the Muggle by the forearm, hitting him with three healing spells in quick succession before blasting a hole through the wooden fence behind. "Your daughter and my son, where are they?"

More gunfire lit the air, and Mr. Granger pointed upwards. "With my wife."

He didn't remember running, but when he came across a pair of fleeing children being covered by a woman's gunfire, he did release a rather acidic cutting spell from his wand; the death eaters chasing them fell amid shouts of pain, and Severus remembered gliding across to hover over his idiotic, shivering, barefoot child.

Carr didn't know if he was terrified or relieved. Snape was well and truly furious, his magic whipping around the area, pressing against him like a prickly blanket coated in fire. It didn't hurt him, but it was uncomfortable and if he hadn't thought he'd be in trouble for leaving before he was certainly assured now. Snape glided along the road, his robes trailing off into smoke as he moved. The man's magic seemed absolutely alive, curling over and around him as he drew closer. His lips were in a thin drawn line, his eyes blazing through the space between them. Caer felt his stomach drop, and it wasn't til a bright beam of purple light arced towards the man that he came to himself.

"Lookout!" Snape spun, the tip of his wand glowing a poisonous red as he arced it through the air. A shield shimmered into being, absorbing the curse in a splash of sparks. It vibrated in the air once, then twice, the red light reflecting off of everything in the vicinity, painting the man that was his father in a wash of red. With a sharp downward slash of his wand the shield took off, rocketing outwards and harmless washing over the houses and ground. But every death eater the spell hit screamed, and Caer saw one collapse to the ground as if he'd been liquefied before his entire vision was filled with black and a sound dampening spell washed over him.

"Of all the asinine, stupid things you could have done, you leave the house while injured and fly on an outdated broom into the middle of one of the Dark Lord's games." Strangely, the man wasn't yelling but Caer would have felt better if he had been. At least then he'd be able to explain the giant lump taking up space in his throat and why he dearly wanted to cling to the man's robes and never have to see that look of mingled disgust and disappointment directed at him again. He knew quite well why he wanted to slug Snape a good one and why the man's casual use of dark magic made his stomach turn, but it was the little fact that Snape was doing it for him, breaking laws and betraying his loyalties for him that the reasonable part of Caer got stuck on.

"I just, it wasn't, it was... Hermione." he finished feebly. To his chagrin there were tears in his eyes and he'd shuffled closer to the clearly angry wizard, unconsciously soaking up the soothing warmth seeming to float from the man's magic in waves. He knew that Hermione was watching them, if she was still conscious, and if she wasn't her parents were, but he didn't know how to care at that point. Snape confused him.

"Does your life not matter more than hers, little idiot?" Snape's words were still harsh, but a gentle hand had settled on his head, and Caer felt thoroughly undone. Somewhere within him had started a deep, unaccounted trembling, and he eased closer to the man to press his forehead to the man's sternum, discreetly swiping at a few stray tears with the wispy ends of Snape's robes. "You will regret this, I assure you," Snape rumbled above him, and Caer bit his fist to stave off the high-pitched sob that threatened to escape. What was wrong with him! Here he was weeping all over Snape who didn't even like him, really, was only looking out for him because he was suddenly his father or something...

"My, my my, Severus. You are an interesting little specimen, aren't you?" Caer felt his blood run cold, and childishly gripped a handful of Snape's robes, even as a high-pitched, deranged laughter sounded behind the man. Malfoy senior swore softly, and then his father was turning, his large hand on Caer's chest, pushing him backwards. In the light of several burning houses stood Voldemort, flanked by a host of fluttery black-robed wizards.

"I have always been interesting. You've just never known how much." Snape sounded eerily calm, a fact that Voldemort noticed, the laughter falling from his face. Caer shifted closer to the adults behind him, not wanting to be in his fa - Snape's way when the man began casting. Or when Voldemort started casting at him.

"And to think, Severus," Voldemort said, stepping forward slowly. "To think that I thought you my most faithful."

"Idiocy, I assure you." Severus matched his pace forward, but Caer caught the slight hand motion he flicked at Malfoy senior. "You are not entirely to blame, however. I am a magnificent actor."

Voldemort snarled. "You dare insult -"

Snape gave what could have passed for a laugh on a cold day in hell. "If the shoe fits -"

"Crucio!"

"Ignis Flammae!" The bright green lightning flit through the air once more, one bolt striking Voldemort's curse midair. The serpentine wizard hissed. "Careful, Voldemort." Snape stood still, twirling his wand by his side. "Ugly though you are, you can still burn."

Caer choked on the breath he didn't remember holding. His father, Snape, was taunting Voldemort. "Is he trying to get himself killed?" A shaking, cold hand latched onto his and pulled, just as Voldemort fired the killing curse at Snape. Harry felt his whole world tilt, even as Snape summoned the door of a car to block the blow, the metal warping and melting as he flicked it away, wand weaving in and out as he entered into a deadly dance with the dark wizard. And then there was a hand in his shirt yanking him away and Caer nearly screamed.

"Move it, child! Have you no sense of preservation?" Malfoy had yet to let him go, and Hermione held onto him just as tightly. It was futile trying to shake the man off, not that Caer tried very hard. He wanted to turn back, he truly did, but the thought of the fight going on behind him, of his father fighting the worst dark lord the wizarding world had ever seen, of the man somehow missing a spell or failing to block one...He wasn't sure if he was more terrified of Snape winning or losing, but either way he needed to move.

They'd cleared the first corner when loud, female laughter floated over them, followed by the sound of spellfire. Someone, a woman, was setting things on fire behind them, and laughing. Caer chanced a look over his shoulder, and wished he hadn't. There, skipping along the middle of the street, was a woman, her dark hair wild and knotted, her robes torn and shredded in some places, a most maniacal smile plastered across her dirty face. He felt his stomach lurch, and stumbled in the sudden change in speed from Lucius suddenly breaking out into a full run.

The laughter sounded again, impossibly closer. "Oh cousin Lucius," the woman called in a sing song voice that Caer found instantly irritating." Why won't you come and play?"

Lucius did not slow, not even as he cast blindly behind him, short, biting spells that Caer had never heard of. The woman laughed harder, then sent a blasting curse at their backs. "Come on now, cousin. You'd rather play with the filthy Muggles than me?" If he hadn't thought she was mad, Caer might have thought she was serious, a grown woman with the mind of a child. "Bullae Corruom!"

Caer urged himself faster, but the ground swelled beneath him, sending he and his companions to the ground. Lucius was faster though, yanking him up and away with the grip on his hand, pushing him forward before the man had even made it to his own feet.

"Lucius, you're no fun!" The woman screamed. "Play with me!"

Malfoy snarled, shoving Caer behind him as he moved backwards, facing the madwoman. "Bella, I've no time for games."

For the second time that night, Caer felt his world tilt. There were bright flashes of light in the sky behind the woman, indicating the fight between Voldemort and Snape was still going on. He tried to focus on that, above anything else, but his mind seemed to be stuck, completely fixed on one thing.

Bella. Bellatrix Lestrange.

And suddenly the woman wasn't playful anymore. Her face, already dirty and thin, twisted into a snarl. "The pure-blood ponce delegated to babysitting? I never would have thought, cousin. And Muggles at that." Her eyes flicked briefly over them all, and her sneer grew. "Tell me, is this a direct byproduct of you shagging my leftovers or have you convinced yourself that this is a unrelated hobby?"

"I did always like you better when you were silent, Bella," Malfoy murmured. If his hand hadn't been wrapped around Caer's own wrist, he might have thought the man was perfectly calm. But the large, manicured hand was shaking, much like Caer was. The night air had cooled, but that was not why he shivered. He had known his mother had been a Death Eater. Knew it, as much as he had been able to wrap his mind around his 'new identity' over the past few hours. But to see her, to be face to face with her in all her insane, bloodthirsty glory... it made him sick, and confused, and he inched away from Malfoy and closer to Hermione, half-held up by her father. Her cold hand found his, and they shivered together.

"You should shut me up then, shouldn't you?"

"Believe me, I'd love to. However -"

"Come one then, have a go."

"- Important things to attend to -"

"Aflictus! Conteg AGH!" Lucius crumpled to the ground, twitching and moaning as if someone was physically beating him. Hermione muffled a scream against her father's shoulder, and Caer stood, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight before him. Lucius writhed, bruises and small cuts appearing on his skin and Caer couldn't bear to tear his eyes away.

"A pity. You've grown soft in your old age, cousin."

The soft, almost sympathetic voice sounded over his head, and Caer flinched, taking a half-step back.

Bellatrix ignored him from where she stood, gazing almost tenderly down at the suffering man. "I will help you, cousin. It's alright, I will help you. One spell, and all your pain will be over, and I will take care of your little Muggles for you." She drew her wand, the tip growing green even before she spoke. "Avada -"

"NO!"

Bellatrix blinked as if shocked, her dark eyes locking with his in the dim light. "Well," she said softly, as if in awe. "You're a courageous little Muggle, aren't you?"

Caer knew he shouldn't have interrupted, knew that this would end badly, but could not bear to see someone die in front of him. He glared at her, gathering all his Gryffindor courage and sneered. "Guess again, _Mother_."

The woman froze as if slapped, standing stock still one second and the next trembling so violently her hair vibrated with the force, her wand shaken loose in the process. The scariest change was her eyes, though; where they had been dead and cold a moment before, they absolutely glowed with a series of conflicting emotions so raw and affecting Caer had to take a full step back. He wished he hadn't said anything, with his blood rushing in his ears and his heart beating fit to burst out of his chest, the woman just staring, staring at him, as if he'd gone and broken her world in one word.

"B-baby?" The soft, broken voice that emerged from between her cracked lips shook him from his stupor, and Caer stumbled back, latching onto the first hand he bumped into and fled. They stumbled, something sharp cutting into the bottom of his foot, but Caer pushed on, yanking whose hand it was that he held behind him. He could not stop, could not turn around, because surely the woman would be there, on his heels, waiting to kill him. He didn't know what possessed him to do it. He half-wished he could take it back. It was about time someone felt as confused and out of sorts as he did about this situation, so he wasn't entirely remorseful.

"Wait! Come back!" _No_, no matter how desperate, how undone she sounded, Caer would not turn around, would not stop running because he had to get away, somehow, somehow, had to get himself and Hermione and her parents as far away from this as -

"Crucio!" The spell hit him, lighting every single one of his nerves on fire, filling and destroying and tormenting every single fiber of his being, rolling him over and over in a boiling vat of molten pain, there was a scream somewhere above him and then the blinding pain was gone, leaving him shuddering with aftershocks on the cold, hard ground, something digging into his shoulder, a metallic something filling his mouth. He discovered when he spat it out that it was blood, that he'd bitten clean through his tongue, the sensation both making him queasy and sending shooting jolts of pain through his head. His eyes eased open, hesitantly, the lids fighting with his body's desire to shut down and never, ever have to deal with anything ever in life again,coming face to face with a duel taking place, over the part of Hermione's shoulder he could see past.

Bellatrix spun, ducked and weaved in and out of Voldemort's spell casting, her face completely obscured by her tears and flyaway hair. Slowly, his hearing came back to him, disjointed at first but then too clear, as if he'd stuck a microphone into his ear, and he could hear her crying, screaming, _her baby, her baby_, her spells flying hard and fast without her even voicing any, Voldemort hard pressed to keep up. It would have filled him with awe, had he been able to feel anything, but Caer simply lay there, watching the battle take place. Twice, Hermione shook him, though he couldn't fathom why. Both times Voldemort looked as if he'd been hit with something Caer couldn't remember, but that didn't mean he'd fallen asleep! The duel was interesting, honest, but there was something,something pulling him away, something crowding over him, something he couldn't fight...

Suddenly, he shifted, the world moving from twisted horizontal to vertical in a motion that made him dizzy, and wispy bits of black cloth filled the edges of his vision. Hermione said something, or maybe it was her mother, and then Snape's face flled his vision, bottomless black eyes locked with his, and wasn't that just curious, the man didn't look the least bit upset even though Caer was sure he'd be grounded till he was thirty. Or worse. He didn't think Snape would lock him in the boot cupboard, but then he didn't know if wizards had boot cupboards, so he'd probably hold back on that assumption till he knew more. It was safer that way. Snape said something to him he couldn't make head or tails of, the wispy ends of the man's cloak closing in further and further around his vision, till he blinked once, twice, and the world faded away.


End file.
